


Outer Bands

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [40]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: “Murphy, will you marry me?”  - Peter Hunt, FYI of the Hurricane





	Outer Bands

**Title:** Outer Bands  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Series:** Come Rain, Come Shine  
**Pairing:** Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Timeframe:** FYI of the Hurricane (season 7)  
**A/N:** Okay. So. Here begins my 99 Theses tacked to the door, or however you want to think of it. I have issues, so many of them, with how the end of the Murphy and Peter relationship was handled. After what amounts to two years of dating, suddenly the schedule is just too much for them to handle? After Peter has established himself as a father for Avery, suddenly he’s just going to walk away? After we see a happy and healthy couple in their 40s, we abandon them for Corky and Miles? And worse, we see people outright mocking Murphy and questioning her choices to get married and not being surprised when it all falls apart after she’s been with this guy for two years and yet when Corky and Miles go forth, they jump in and celebrate? (Okay, so there’s some questioning, but not the same level as with Murphy and Peter.) So. This is my damn response. I’m enough of a slave to canon, and to the concept of at times there needing to be drama in narrative structure to make it interesting, to be willing to play with some of canon. But I’m sorry. Murphy and Peter were good for each other. And if you’re going to break them up … make it make sense already! Spoiler alert: these two idiots stay together in the long run.  
**Disclaimer:** Diane, I know you weren’t to blame for what happened at the end of season 7. Nor was Korby, I don’t think. But if you are at all able to fix … oh. That’s right. You aren’t going to mention anything that happened in the years Diane was away from the show. Okay. I understand. So. Um. I don’t make any money from this. But if you’d like me to write the fix …

 **Summary:** _“Murphy, will you marry me?” - Peter Hunt, FYI of the Hurricane_

It was easy to almost forget her headache and how heavy her body felt when Avery was running around the house in his jean jacket, talking about the zoo and kiddieland and seeing Peter. He was home, finally, and the two of them were gonna spend the day together and more and more it was impossible to ignore that her baby boy saw Peter as his father.

It was also getting harder and harder to ignore her sore breasts, exhaustion, brain fog, last night’s out of the blue craving for mint tea, and the fact that she was six weeks late. But that was an entirely different emotional basket that she would unpack at her doctor’s appointment next week.

The first time she missed a period, she panicked. She and Peter had just started dating and she was sure the condom had broken but no, her doctor just chuckled and said she was like every other woman in perimenopause. Be careful still, she’d warned. But welcome to the change. And it was a change. For someone who had always been as regular as clockwork, suddenly she started a day early or three days late. She spotted longer, and either gushed like a stuck pig or trickled to a light pink stop. She’d learned to keep pads in her bag, just in case the tampon failed miserably.

Yeah, it was a great thing to be facing the end of her fertility while her sexy, younger boyfriend strutted around looking like the playboy of western journalism.

Is there any chance you could be pregnant? The form would ask at her appointment next week.

She didn’t even think about it at first this time around. Yes, over the last two years, she and Peter had become lax about protection, but it hadn’t seemed to be an issue. She remained not pregnant. But one morning at her desk, making notes on a story about the impact of Reagan Era policies on current HIV treatment, she realized that the days had come, passed, and moved on. Two weeks late. Well. It was fine. Her head was foggy. Her breasts ached. But she wasn’t puking, so maybe this was just how her body reacted to hormone changes. She did however reach over and circle the 18th as a reminder. Just in case. She didn’t even mention it to Peter, who was over in Pakistan and didn’t need to be distracted.

On the 19th, she woke up to a dizzy spell and barely made it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of her stomach. Slow, creeping terror set in. Did she even tell Peter before he came home? No. She had an appointment scheduled in a couple of weeks and she’d wait to worry until then. It was probably nothing.

She really should take a test before then.

Being almost forty-eight didn’t seem to bother biology, apparently.

Not that she was at all worried about it. No. Not that she had anything in her past to worry about when it came to telling her lover she was pregnant.

“So, I know you’ve got a big day tomorrow,” Peter had murmured into the phone at two AM. His plane had been delayed and he’d just gone straight to his apartment and Murphy was so close to telling him to stop paying rent there. Almost. “And after six weeks of mud and rain, I’m taking a day off. Why don’t I take Avery while you’re at work and then we can … connect … later.”

She’d sighed. “I wish you were here, connecting to me right now …”

“Promises,” he chuckled. “And patience. I’ll see you at the office?”

“Definitely.”

So, rather than focusing on the last time she’d seen Peter and the apparent consequences of their actions, she focused on Avery and his excitement. Getting him to eat breakfast was almost impossible, but he eventually ate half a pop tart and downed some orange juice and she made a mental note to remind Peter to get him a vegetable at some point during the day.

The whole way in to work, Avery babbled about the day and seeing Peter again. Murphy tried very hard to keep breathing when he said, out of the blue, “Mommy, can I have a baby brother?”

Well. How did she respond to that?

“That’s a tall order, sweetheart,” she managed to choke out. “Let’s start with the zoo, okay?”

It didn’t appease him. “Lily god a baby brother.”

Sweet Jesus. Murphy stared straight ahead, her hand over the tiny bunch of cells she knew full well was multiplying daily, and tried to stay focused on the road. “Well, we’ll talk, okay?”

Avery kicked his feet but went back to babbling about the day, so Murphy let it slide. Hopefully he’d forget his question.

In the time it had taken to drive in, Avery had wiggled out of his jacket and untied one shoe. Murphy glanced down the row of cars, searching for Peter’s Range Rover, but he wasn’t in yet. Which made sense. It was only nine and his flight had landed so late. Still, it would have been nice to have his help in unbuckling the squirming three year old. Bending over only caused an all too familiar wave of nausea.

Shoes tied and Avery’s jacket in hand, she let him lead the way to the elevator and lifted him up so he could push the button to the lobby and then the button to the 17th floor.

They emerged to Avery’s playground. Privately, Murphy desperately appreciated the patience the news staff showed her hyperactive three year old. She knew full well that if this were Marv’s kid, she’d be in her office bitching. Avery raced ahead, pushing open the door of her office and going in search of his trike. Murphy collapsed into her chair and tried to pull from whatever inner reserves she might have left. God, she was exhausted.

But Avery was off, riding around, and she knew she should probably go corrall him but she just didn’t have the energy. That little brother he wanted was really starting to make himself known. God. How the hell could she be pregnant?

Because, her doctor’s voice taunted her, you still have periods and yet and you and Peter almost never use condoms anymore. Or oh, was that a stupidly rhetorical question? Her doctor’s voice was also very good at lecturing her about being a highly educated, well paid, respected professional woman who somehow was crap at using protection, but that was a whole other conversation.

Out in the bullpen she heard a familiar squeal. Peter was clearly there, and she looked up as his ever-denim clad self sauntered into her office, Avery riding along at his heels. She stood up and walked over and Peter pulled her close, tangling his hand in her hair, wrapping his arm around her hips, and kissing the hell out of her with a passion that made her wish he had come over last night.

“Welcome home,” she grinned as they broke for air.

“God, I missed you.” He stroked his hands down her arms. “Six weeks is way too long.”

“Yeah, well. Feeling trapped much?” Unbidden, anxiety rose in her chest. She knew this separation hadn’t been his idea. She knew they’d only planned to send him for two weeks and the situation just kept going. She knew he was comfortable and happy. She knew there was a question brewing behind his eyes that scared the hell out of her, but that she wanted him to ask. But he didn’t know what she knew. Well, what she thought she knew. What she was almost sure she knew. What … No. She knew. God. How was he going to react?

He laughed and kissed her again. “I never should have made that deal with you.”

Avery backed out of the office, making beeping noises as he did so. Murphy laughed, keeping her cool. She wasn’t telling him a thing until she’d taken a test and she could do that later. Or just wait until she went into labor. That worked. “You have a bag for him?”

“All ready to go.” He looked over his shoulder, grabbing a juice box as he did. “I think I’d better catch Mario Andretti out there.”

She laughed and turned back to her desk to answer the phone, fighting back yet another wave of nausea.

***

Peter hadn’t been sure what prompted him to buy the teddy bear at the airport, but for some reason he’d wrestled it into his car and brought it up to the news floor. Avery loved his stuffed animals, but he wasn’t as into the big ones like this anymore. Still, the bear had grabbed him. So. He’d set it on Murphy’s desk. It would be as effective as one of her secretaries.

She’d sounded so exhausted when she answered the phone last night. Hell, when she’d answered the phone every night for the past few weeks. But he also knew she was working on two huge stories that were taking up almost all of her conscious energy.

So why was his spidey sense tingling?

And why the hell was he thinking about a spidey sense?

But seeing her sitting behind her desk, something pricked at his mind. Something he couldn’t even comprehend in full, so he shoved it down and focused instead on the woman who was suddenly his arms, the woman he hadn’t seen for six weeks, the woman he was head over heels in love with. The woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Right before he’d gone overseas, his grandmother - who was in fact the smartest woman on the planet - had declared she was sending him her sapphire ring. “It will bring out her eyes, Peter,” she’d said, her voice so far away over the phone.

There was a package waiting for him to pick up at the post office. It was one errand he was taking Avery on today.

But first, he had to reassure her insecure self (how could a woman this confident be so insecure) that no, he wasn’t feeling trapped. He also had to wrangle the little race car driver who was terrorizing the newsroom.

He grabbed the back of the trike and drove him around, helping provide the vroooom noises and apologizing to everyone they ran in to. Finally, they ended back at Murphy’s office and Peter handed over the juice box. Avery sucked down the sugar water happily.

Murphy emerged a minute later, looking a bit more together than she had five minutes ago. She glanced at the bear, glared at him, but focused on Avery. “Hey there, little buckaroo. How you doin? Who is this, my new secretary?”

Avery grinned and pointed at the bear. “You’re fired!”

Peter hurt his ribs, holding in his laugh. He just looked up at Murphy, who at least had the grace to blush. “Where do kids pick these things up?” She teased.

“Beats me.” He stood up, kissed her again, and picked Avery up to stand him on the desk. “We gotta get going, we have a big day planned, don’t we, Avery?”

Avery just grinned. Peter ran down the list - the zoo, Kiddie Land, checking out the new cement mixer because Avery was into construction stuff right now. “You know,” he smirked at her, “guy stuff!”

“Yeah!” Avery giggled. “Guy stuff!”

“Okay, just no sitting on a girder whistling at women.” She winked at him and kissed Avery and moved off to her meeting. Peter just gathered Avery close. Murphy waved and blew a kiss and after Avery told Miller Redfield he was fired, they were on their way.

He settled Avery into his booster seat and started the car, checking carefully before heading out for the first real stop, which was the post office. Avery was rambling, which was always one of Peter’s favorite things to listen to. He liked his friends at school and Reena was so cool and Mommy was sick yesterday. She threw up.

Wait, what?

Why hadn’t she mentioned that?

“But she was okay?” Peter asked, checking the mirror.

“Yeah. Where’s da zoo?”

Peter chuckled. Far be it from him to focus on something that wasn’t the zoo.

***

She didn’t want to go to Florida. She didn’t care about the damn hurricane. She wanted to go home and take a pregnancy test and then find a way to tell her boyfriend they were having a baby. If she timed it just right, she could get the setting sun through the cutout in the door as he fled. Instead, she was changing into a clean, camera ready suit in case she was pulled from the plane into a studio, grabbing her go bag, leaving a message for Reena, and catching Peter during Avery’s nap.

“It’s fine, Murphy. I mean,” he was chuckling, “I think the universe is working against my personal desires, but you’ll be home soon.”

“Reena’s around if something comes up for you.”

“I got it,” he said, his voice soft through the phone. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure Avery understands.”

“I hate leaving him without saying goodbye.”

“Call us from the hotel.”

“I will.” She sighed. “Peter …”

“Yeah, Murphy?”

“I love you.” Why was she holding her hand over her abdomen as she said it? God, she couldn’t go through this alone. Not again. No, if Peter wasn’t up to sticking around, she couldn’t keep the baby. Not with Avery so active and work so busy. It would kill her.

“I love you too,” he came back at her. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

No one was happy about the trip, but the last thing she wanted was to be tucked into a plane with the crew and the gang. She actually took the aisle seat - just in case the desperate need to puke came up. How in hell was she going to hide this from them in such close quarters? Especially when the flight attendant screwed up orders and the plane was understocked with peanuts and pretzels and the nausea hit her so hard she almost puked all over Jim.

Oh no. Ginger ale was just fine, thank you.

Later, she’d know she should have just been honest before getting on the plane. Pulled Miles aside and told him the truth. Told him she really didn’t want to go, but she’d anchor in the studio. Please. She had her reasons and they were good ones. But that was later. So she sat quietly, trying to read, ignoring Frank sucking down iced tea and Jim snoring. She skimmed magazines and contemplated baby names and prayed for a vending machine full of chocolate and a boyfriend who wouldn’t take off.

This was not how her mother raised her to be.

At least the vending machine had chocolate.

She woke feeling worse than she had in ages. It wasn’t just the candy feast and lingering sugar hangover that had her. No, she knew this feeling and she needed to get a washcloth on her face before she embarrassed herself in front of everyone. Jim wouldn’t appreciate it if she puked on his shoes. So she charged in and interrupted Frank brushing his teeth and reached for the nearest clean washcloth. She really was going to die.

“While I was sleeping someone put my stomach on spin cycle.”

Frank chuckled. “You know that’s funny. I haven’t heard you say that since your boozing days. Or since you were pregnant.”

Silence. She glared at him.

“Oh, come on, Murph. It isn’t like you’re late or anything.”

Silence. She glared at him.

“You’re late?!”

“How many weeks would you consider late?” She leaned in, suddenly needing to vent her terror. “And my boobs do feel kind of swollen -” kind of!? “Do they seem swollen to you?”

He stared and then shrugged. “Who could tell?!”

She hit him. God, Frank. A little support. But her best friend wasn’t capable of support. Not like what she needed right now. He lost it. “What is the matter with you! Don’t you use protection?!”

No, of course she didn’t! She was in a serious, monogamous relationship and she wasn’t exactly in a demographic that was out getting pregnant. “Of course!” She defended herself. “But those things are only 99% effective! Can I help it if I’ve always been exceptional?!”

He stormed away and turned back. “Was it … Peter?”

The question hurt more than when they’d all wondered if it was Jerry or Jake who had fathered Avery. Then, she’d been in a love triangle of stupid proportions, one that still didn’t make any damn sense. Now, she was in love. With a man who loved her back. Who was probably going to flee the minute he found out the secret she couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet.

“No, Frank,” she fought back the sudden surge of tears that raced through her. “It was Jesse Helms.” He just stared at her. She kept going. “We had a quickie in the Senate cloak room.” She hit him. “Of course it was Peter!” How dare he! How dare he! How … her stomach flopped and she almost puked. Right there. On him.

And then the kicker, the reason she hadn’t even told him, the man she told everything. Forget that he questioned her relationship with Peter, but he stared at her. “How could you do this to me! How could you be pregnant again?”

Yes. She’d done this to him. Him. She’d made love to her boyfriend and stupidly not stopped for thirty seconds to roll the condom onto him. He’d been leaving for Pakistan in the morning and they’d tripped over each other getting into bed, ripping clothes off and she’d been careless and silly and hadn’t cared a damn bit because she was hopelessly in love with Peter and wasn’t at all worried about getting pregnant because she was almost 48 years old. Yes, screwing Frank Fontana over had been her number one priority in that moment. Not the way Peter held her or the way he made her laugh when he blew kisses over her bare stomach or the way he whispered in her ear as he entered her body. No. It had all been about seeing how she could mess up Frank Fontana’s life.

She was the pregnant, unmarried one here. And she had proof of what that meant for her. Yup. Just did it to fuck Frank over.

“Will you keep your voice down!” Was all she said, covering his mouth with her hand.

Frank just rambled, talking about getting a test, and she pushed him out the door. Anything to get him out of the room, to give her a chance to breathe. Yes, the outer bands of the hurricane had landed and the winds were dangerous and the rain felt like rocks pelting the skin. She didn’t care. He was doing the one thing she hadn’t the guts to do yet.

He was going across the street to the drug store to get her a pregnancy test.

News and ratings and hurricanes be damned. She was pregnant. It was time she admitted it.

***

The phone woke him. Peter groaned and reached for it, praying it wasn’t what he quickly learned it was. Shit.

“Yeah,” he rubbed his hand over his face. “Look, Anna,” he said to his equally exhausted editor, “I gotta get Avery back to his nanny. I have him while Murphy is also covering the hurricane. I need a couple of hours, okay?”

Avery’s tantrum was epic. First mommy and now Peter and he just couldn’t understand why. They’d been gone at the same time before, but his routine hadn’t been impacted quite like this. He wailed the whole way back to the townhouse, wailed into Reena’s arms, and Peter honestly felt the same.

Why the hell did the network need three different news shows covering the hurricane anyway?

But he did his job and got on a plane and headed to the same motel where Murphy was staying. Maybe they could get a few minutes alone, at least. One kiss in six weeks was not his idea of a good time.

Instead, he tripped into a french farce with a soap opera twist. Six people crammed into the motel room, and Murphy looked green and anxious. He’d walked in on something and as she met his eyes, he realized everything was about to change.

“I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this …” Murphy said, her blue eyes full of utter terror. “But the possibility is … that I might be pregnant.”

He didn’t have time to respond before she dashed into the bathroom, leaving him at the door and Jim with half of his face covered in shaving cream. Peter took a shaky breath, processing, slowly, that this wasn’t a moment he would get to share with her privately, and walked to find a place to sit.

Pregnant?

It was a dream he’d never allowed himself, and one he didn’t need. Avery was his son. They played together, they read together, and Peter even disciplined him when necessary. When on the road, he never even called Avery his girlfriend’s son. No, Avery was as much his as if he’d held Murphy’s hand during labor. But the idea they could have a child together? That he’d be there, and Avery would be a big brother? It just felt so right.

She emerged almost too quickly, and Peter couldn’t help but see the pain in her eyes. Something was wrong. But, as she always did, she covered whatever it was with a smile and a laugh.

Until suddenly, they were alone and realized that there was never a perfect moment. So what if his days lately were spent wondering about a dinner with roses and orchids, maybe out in the backyard. Avery there. Him getting down on one knee and sliding his grandmother’s ring onto her finger and praying, just praying, she’d say yes. Almost two years into this and at times she could still be so skittish.

Instead, he just looked at her, and hoped to god she understood how serious he was in the moment. “Murphy, let’s get married.”

She stared at him. “What?”

Shit. Maybe he should have gone with the backyard and having the ring ready. “Let’s do it. You and me. Let’s get married.”

He watched the blood drain out of her face. “Wait. Now you want to get married? Where were you five minutes ago when I was alone and pregnant?”

Okay. Good. She was making jokes. At least that meant he could get through to her. Damnit. Why didn’t he have the ring? The ring would prove to her that he’d been thinking about this for a while. That this wasn’t just about a baby. Instead, he looked into her eyes and was honest. Just honest. That all he could think about was the two of them and Avery and a baby and being a family and it felt right with or without the baby, so getting married made sense. “Murphy,” he asked, taking her hands in his. “Will you marry me?”

“I …I don’t know what to say …”

He let out a breath and stepped away, trying to cover his heartbreak. Yes, he wanted her to leap into his arms, to say yes, to scream it while the screen faded to black. Hopefully she’d just chalk this up to something random, to the pregnancy scare. He’d propose at Christmas. That made more sense anyway.

But then she said yes. She said yes. He reached out and pulled her against his body and he could only clutch her to him and she clung. Tightly. So tightly.

“I love you,” he whispered, still not tired of saying it. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too …” she pulled back and stared into his eyes. There were tears there. “You caught that I’m not pregnant, right? You don’t have to .. it isn’t something you have to own up to.”

“Oh shut up,” he sighed and tugged her back against him. “Stop.” He didn’t miss how tightly she was holding him. “Murphy?” He risked.

“Yeah?” Slowly she pulled away.

“Is everything okay? You’re pale. And I mean, your coworkers wouldn’t just have assumed you were pregnant.”

“I’m fine.” She let out a breath that didn’t lend him to believe she was fine. “I’m just … look, Frank figured out that I was late and it blew up, okay? Right now, I’m just spotting and feel kind of gross …” she shrugged.

“Wait? You’re late?” He stroked her cheek, trying to ignore the implications of what she was saying.

“Hence the possibility of me maybe being pregnant. But my periods haven’t been regular in a while and well … trust me. I’m not pregnant.” She met his eyes and he rested his hand on her waist.

“You want me to go get something to eat and bring it back?” He knew how her cramps had been lately.

“No … I’m tired of them looking at me funny. Let’s go.” She let out a breath. He took her hand. She was shaking. “And let’s not tell the gang yet? I … I just want to enjoy this with us right now and if we tell them, Corky will start wedding plans before we get to hurricane coverage and Frank will probably try to drown you …”

He laughed. “I completely agree.” Peter paused and met her eyes again. “Really, Murphy, everything’s okay?”

“Yes,” she leaned up and kissed him. “It really is.”

He had no choice but to believe her.

***

On shaking legs, Murphy walked back into the bedroom, holding the test she hadn’t taken in Florida. Why pee on a stick when her period seemed to have started? But, she’d stopped spotting that first night. She’d spent the last three days puking. Her head was foggy and her breasts hurt and the stupid test was blue. Bright, bright, you’re almost seven weeks pregnant blue. It was gross, and she wished she’d had a baggie or something to cover it in, but she held the test in her fingers. He deserved to see it. After all, she’d told him she wasn’t pregnant.

“Peter?” Her breath caught in her throat and she stopped in the doorway, staring at her boyfriend. Her fiance. Three days since Florida, since she’d said yes to a proposal that still made her head spin. He’d stayed longer than she had down in the hurricane dregged panhandle, and was fresh off the plane and in need of a shower and a nap so of course, she was about to drop this bomb on him. Peter was standing with his back to her, on his side of the bed, unpacking a few things from his go-bag, muttering about his shaving kit. Everything looked so damned comfortable and domestic. Well, she was about to ruin that. “We … need to talk.”

He turned at her words, and as always, she fell into his eyes and the emotion there. Never once had she ever doubted his feelings for her. Never once. Hopefully this wouldn’t change anything.

She held out the test.

“What’s this?” He reached for it and she watched the emotions cross his face. Surprise. Terror. Utter confusion. He set the test down on the bed and walked the few steps to the bathroom door, taking her shaking hands in his. Always touching her. Always. “You said …”

“When I went into the bathroom the other day, to take that test, I was spotting. Which … I was six weeks, late, okay? Let’s get that out on the table. And spotting is normal to happen during pregnancy, I had it with Avery at the beginning, but I was so relieved that it looked like I’d started my period that I didn’t bother doing the thing. By the time I got back up here the other day, the spotting was done but I just … so I … I am actually pregnant, Peter. Like, really pregnant.”

“Really?” His voice caught and he was looking at her like … like Jake never had. “We’re going to have a baby?”

“I …” she wanted to argue. She wanted to fight. She wanted to remind him that she was almost 48. She wanted to be realistic and quote statistics about pregnancy at her age, but the look in his eyes was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “I’ve missed two periods. So.” She shrugged. “Unless every symptom I’ve ever had is lying to me.”

“You’re pregnant?” His hands moved to her waist and he knelt down, pressing his face to her stomach. “You’re pregnant?”

Tears she’d been fighting spilled over and she tangled her fingers in Peter’s hair. “Peter …” He was holding her so tenderly and she didn’t know how to tell him that she was scared this wouldn’t happen. That a pregnancy was going to kill her this time around. But if there was anyone she ever wanted to have a child with, it was this man. The man who had proposed to her when they thought she wasn’t pregnant, who loved her, who loved her son, who was now kneeling in front of her, holding her like she’d wanted Jake to.

She’d never wanted two children. With Peter, she’d try.

“We, uh, should tell people about the wedding,” she chuckled, desperately trying to hide her fear. “And probably move it up. I think the network will kill me if I am pregnant and unmarried again.”

Peter let out a laugh and looked up at her. “Probably.”

She ran her hand through his ruffled curls. “Peter, really … you’re okay with this?”

“Are you?” He was still on his knees, his hands around her waist. Decades of interviewing told her the question wasn’t a deflection. He wanted to make sure.

Nerves caused her to hesitate, but only because she remembered the exhaustion and the pre-term labor and late night terror when she was eight months pregnant and alone and sure she’d made a terrible mistake. But she did love the idea that at least one of her three pregnancies wouldn’t be the result of Jake Lowenstein. “I’m terrified,” she admitted. “But if I am going through this again, I want it to be with you.”

“So what’s the next step?”

She laughed and sat on the bed, the wave of nausea crashing over her. “You get off your knees.” He smiled and crawled up to join her, wrapping his arms around her, his eyes shining. But then he jumped up. “What?” She asked, panic rising.

“Hold on.”

She watched him do that which she’d expected - race out of the bedroom. She listened to him charge down the stairs and throw open the door and her heart just shattered. He hadn’t even grabbed his go bag. Murphy forced herself to her feet and moved to the landing, ready to go lock the door behind him, when she heard his feet again, charging back up the stairs, and he raced back to the bedroom, holding a padded envelope in his hand.

“Hold on …” he gasped. “I forgot this was … hold on.”

“Peter? What the hell?” She crossed her arms over her chest, effectively trapping him in the room, but he at least owed her an explanation.

“Before I went to Pakistan,” he puffed out. “I talked to my grandmother.” Her heart stopped. He took another breath and bided some time by opening the envelope. Inside was a blue velvet ring box. “I was going to wait,” he looked at her, his breath finally under control. “I had this whole plan that involved either Christmas Eve or Avery helping me put on a picnic in the backyard. But well, then Florida happened.”

She held her breath. Maybe it would keep her from crying.

“I didn’t even tell her what I was planning and she sent me the ring last week. I had it in the car, I picked it up when I had Avery the other day. She’d kill me if she knew I just had it tucked under the seat. But …” he opened the box and got down on one knee. “Look, Murphy, this isn’t what I had planned, but it isn’t like we were planning for a baby either. I meant it the other day in that sketchy motel room and I mean it right now. Murphy Brown, will you marry me?”

She stared at the antique sapphire and rose gold setting, the hand holding it, the man on his knees. “So this is how a relationship that is supposed to blow up and end in disaster proves itself?” She asked, trying to stop her tears.

“Murphy?” He looked up at her. “We’re long past any of that pretense. And I think we were even past it the night we had that conversation, but it helped to take the pressure off.” He took the ring out of the box and took her hand. “I have no idea if this fits,” he chuckled. “But …”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I meant it in Florida. I want to marry you.” The ring did fit. It was a tad loose, actually, but that was okay. It could be sized. Anyway, it wouldn’t be long before her fingers swelled up and she had to wear it on a chain anyway.

Peter stood up, just a bit slowly, and pulled her into his arms. She let herself hold on, tightly. Always tightly.

“Okay,” he said, looking at her. “I have questions.”

“About?”

“You, the baby, how you’re feeling, what we’re talking about here …”

She leaned into him. “I feel like ass, honestly. The morning sickness is killing me and my body hates me. As for the baby, I already had an appointment scheduled. I was going to ask her why I was late. Now that I know …”

“Can I come?” Peter blurted out.

She shook her head. “Let’s … okay, but, trust me, as much as you like having your fingers inside of me, there’s nothing about this visit that is that much fun…”

He laughed. “Sorry, I’m just … I’m excited. I’m terrified. I’m just … we’re having a baby, Murphy.”

Tears spilled over again and she moved to lie down, staring up at the mural around the skylight. Peter stretched out next to her, trailing his fingers over her stomach. “I want to wait to tell people, okay?” She said. “About the baby. I mean, we should get married as soon as possible. The gang already thinks I’m not pregnant and if it gets out, the network brass is going to lose their collective minds. So if we get married fast, we can just announce the baby after. People can do math, but they won’t care that much if we’re married.”

“So I can’t call my mom then?”

“Not yet, if that’s okay. At least, don’t mention the baby yet. You can tell her you are finally making an honest woman out of me though.” They both laughed. She took his hand and looked at his fingers. “Well, Avery is going to be happy. He asked me the other day for a younger brother.”

Peter laughed. “Out of the mouths of babes.” He took a breath, “Um … I was going to ask you something, actually. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, which spills the beans that I’ve been wanting to propose for a while too. And it’s as good a time as any for this conversation.” She looked at him. “After we get married … I want to adopt Avery.”

“Peter?” She stared at him and realized, in that moment, what it meant to truly want to spend the rest of your life with someone.

“Yes?” He chuckled. She stroked his cheek.

“I didn’t think Prince Charmings existed …”

“We’re a rare breed,” he teased, leaning in to kiss her. Anything else she was going to say was forgotten as he tugged her out of her clothes and slid between her legs.

***

Peter did come to the appointment. He sat in the waiting room until a very nice nurse called him back and showed him to an office where Murphy was sitting across from a stern looking black woman. “Dr. Barton, this is Peter Hunt.”

“Hm,” the woman sized him up. “I was hoping to never do this again with you, Murphy,” the doctor said as she sat down. But under the harsh tone, he could hear the tenderness the woman felt for her. This was the woman who had seen her through Avery’s pregnancy. Okay. Good.

“So, yes,” she said after introducing herself, “Murphy is very pregnant. About seven weeks along, if everything holds true. And she’s already a high risk because of her age.” Madeline raised an eyebrow. “In most situations, I would suggest bed rest until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, but Murphy is one of the few women who would be harmed by being forced to sit still right now.”

“I also learned my lessons with Avery,” Murphy interjected. “Once you told me to sit down, I did.”

“Once he told you to, you did. Smart little baby you had there.” The doctor chuckled. “Honestly, I’m not sure how things are going to go and I wanted you both here for a reality check. It isn’t unheard of for women Murphy’s age to have a healthy pregnancy, and right now, she seems fine. But we also want to avoid the issues that came up with her first one.”

Peter blinked. There had been complications with Avery? He reached for her hand. Murphy linked their fingers.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked, glancing between the two women.

“Right now, business as mostly usual. Murphy is going to need a reduced schedule though, or at least more time working at home where she can lie down as needed. And I mean that. If you are tired, you lie down. If you are hungry, you eat. And you aren’t on your feet for more than a few minutes at a time. Get sleep, get rest, drink water, and watch for cramping or spotting. I don’t want to lie to you - there is a very good chance that this baby is not viable. Early term miscarriages are very common at this stage.” Peter didn’t miss how Murphy’s hand started to shake.

“What do I look for?” She asked.

“Same as I told you four years ago. Cramping, excess spotting, and full on bleeding. The spotting you told me about seems like it was normal, but keep an eye on it. If you pass any clots, call me right away. And I’ll see you in two weeks. We’re going to become very close.”

Murphy nodded. Peter stood and helped her to her feet. He walked with her down to his car, watching the emotions pass over her face. “I need to tell Miles, I suppose,” she sighed, sliding into the passenger seat. “He’s going to want to know why I need more time at home.” Her hand was protectively over her abdomen.

“Can I ask what happened with Avery?” Peter asked as he started the car.

“What? Oh. I … I developed this condition called Preterm Labor. You’d be impressed, I stayed off my feet for two weeks.”

“That …” Peter laughed, “is impressive.”

“It almost killed me.”

“I can imagine.”

“The sitting still, not the labor pains.” She threw him a smile. “Jerry was good … well, he tried to be.”

“Gold?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Gold was there?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “He’s not a monster, you know. A loudmouth with bad taste in politics, yes. But he’s not a monster. And unlike Jake, he stuck around. Which … she sighed. I sound so old fashioned when I say that.”

“If he helped take care of you during Avery’s pregnancy, he has earned some points.” Peter unclenched his jaw. “A few.”

Her hand rested on his knee. “Peter …”

“Yeah?” He pulled up to a stoplight and looked at her, his hand resting over hers.

“I’m scared. I’m really scared. I don’t want to lose this baby.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t either.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Murphy nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

***

  
What stayed with her was the sense that no one believed she could do it. They were happy to hand her the hardest stories, the toughest interviews. They knew she could scale mountains for them and do it with someone dangling a bottle of scotch before her and she’d be fine. And yet, when it came to her engagement to Peter, they all looked at her like she’d grown a second head, except for Frank, who was just mad she hadn’t told him first.

Oh, I’m sorry, she wanted to bite at him. But I’m pregnant and we’re not telling anyone and now you’ve all made me nervous and awkward and I can’t tell you about the baby because you can’t keep a damn secret but I’m pregnant and I’m terrified and Peter left for Saudi Arabia this morning and what if something happens while he’s gone and Frank? Do you give a damn? So, yes, I’m making this seem like it isn’t a big deal because we want to keep it simple and Avery wants ice cream and pizza so we think we are going to just do that.

What stayed with her was her terror. That something was going to go wrong. That she was going to lose the baby and Peter wouldn’t want her anymore. Worse, he wouldn’t want Avery. What stayed with her was the devil on her shoulder, the one who always convinced her that people didn’t love her. The one who leaned in, laughing, and said, “You’re only with him because of your son.”

She needed her best friend to tell her she was fine. She was making the right choice. She needed someone to hold her hand. She needed Corky to understand what she really wanted was pizza and ice cream. She needed Jim to congratulate her. She needed Frank to hug her.

She didn’t get that.

So she sat, in her office, arguing with the devil on her shoulder. She didn’t drink anymore, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t great at giving in to her inner demons. If she couldn’t manage a wedding, after all, how could she possibly handle baby number two?

***

Everything hurt. What had been midnight spotting was full blown blood. Her legs were sticky.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Get up. Shower. Keep calm. She didn’t notice any clots.

Black pants. Blue blouse with sleeves rolled up. Hair in a fishbone braid. Light makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes. Nude lipstick. Chunky gold necklace. Golden chain bracelet given to her by Peter at Christmas. Small golden hoops. Black flats.

Change tampon. Add pad for security. Wash hands. Take two midol and fight to keep the water down.

Breathe through the cramps.

Find Avery.

Hug him so tightly he wiggles away.

Smile at Reena.

“No,” she shook her head, “I’m really not hungry this morning.”

Reena raised an eyebrow, much like she had over the last few weeks. “Well, let me give you something to take with you.” Reena knew now. Avery still didn’t. He knew Mommy was marrying Daddy but he didn’t know about his baby brother. Right now, Murphy was so glad they hadn’t told him yet. He wouldn’t understand.

Murphy didn’t bother fighting. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have this morning anyway. Her eyes fell on the clock, ticking closer to when she could call her doctor and schedule an appointment. The cramps pushed through her abdomen, reminding her of the jolting pains of preterm labor.

“You’re pale, Sweetheart,” Reena crooned. “You all right this morning?”

Murphy swallowed back the bile in her throat. “Just tired. I need to get going.”

Avery wrapped his arms around her legs. “Bye Mommy.”

“Bye, Sweetheart.” She stroked his fine red hair and pulled away before the tears started to fall.

Make it to the car.

Breathe through the cramps. Breathe through the cramps. Breathe through the cramps. Breathe through the cramps.

Make it to the office.

Breathe through the cramps.

Close office door. Sit. Dial.

“Hi, Patricia,” she said as the all too perky receptionist answered. “It’s Murphy Brown… I really need to see Madeline this morning.”

“I’m sorry, she’s booked.” Patricia quipped.

“Patricia …” she sucked in a breath. “I think I’m miscarrying. I really need to see her.”

The silence was stunned, but quick. “Hold on.”

The hold music was Barry Manilow.

“She’ll see you right now. What are your symptoms?”

“Cramps, bleeding. Nausea.” She wiped her eyes.

“When did it start?”

“I started spotting around midnight. But I woke up about two hours ago and it’s been pretty constant.”

“All right. We’ll see you when you get here.”

“Thank you.” Murphy slammed the phone down and took off to the elevator.

“Murphy!” Miles tried to catch her.

She turned and looked at him. “Not now, Miles. I need to get going.”

“Ooooh, hot story?”

Breathe through the cramps.

“Yep!” She forced out. “Gotta meet a source. I’ll update you later.” She slipped into the elevator, keeping the smile plastered to her face.

Breathe through the …

Oh god.

“Murphy?”

She looked up at the familiar voice - Doris stood in the lobby, her purse tucked into the crook of her arm. As always, she looked ready for tea in the Rose Garden and Murphy worried she was going to puke on her shoes. “Hey, Doris …” she put on a smile. She was convincing, right?

Doris clearly wasn’t buying it. “What’s wrong? You look ill.”

“I …”

Suddenly, it felt real. The cramps, the conversation with the office, the fact that Peter had left for Saudi Arabia last night and she still didn’t know how to get ahold of him. Suddenly, the fact that she was standing in the lobby of the network building, miscarrying her child, hit her.

“Murphy?”

“Yes,” she choked out. “I’m actually on my way to my doctor’s. Something I ate probably, but, just being careful.”

Doris frowned. “You know, I just came down to drop off Jim’s lunch for him. I have time this morning, if you’d like a ride.”

She stared to say no but her stomach folded in on itself again and a gush of blood pushed from her body. “Actually …” she took Doris’ outstretched hand. “That’s a good idea.”

They walked together, slowly, toward Doris sensible but elegant car, and Murphy paused before curling up in the white seat. What if she bled everywhere? It felt even now like it was running down her legs. Doris looked at her, and somehow, Murphy realized, she understood. “It’s all right,” she reassured her.

Murphy didn’t believe her, but expediency forced her into the seat - after putting her jacket down to sit on. She leaned forward, her head in her hands, as she gave the address where they were going.

“She’s my gyn as well,” the soft voice returned. “I know exactly where she is.” They drove in silence and Murphy appreciated Doris not pushing for information.

They’d done this once before, about ten years ago. Jim had been out of town at a conference and Doris had called, terrified. Murphy had picked her up and taken her to the doctor, who met her at the door. They’d stayed together that night, Murphy drinking her emotions, and Doris joining her.

“This was our last chance,” she’d lamented into her glass of scotch. “Jim didn’t even know yet.”

“Does Peter know?” Doris asked, her tone so soft Murphy almost burst into tears.

“Yeah …” she choked out. “I’m eight weeks along …”

“Oh, Murphy …” Doris was gentle. “I’m so sorry. I hope ...”

“Please, Doris …” Murphy shook her head. “Please don’t, okay? I can’t hold out anything right now.”

Half an hour to her doctor.

Taylor met her as she came in. “Come on back,” the nurse said. “Let’s get you looked at.” Doris took a seat in the waiting room.

The tenderness in the woman’s voice made her knees buckle slightly, but there were people in the lobby. She couldn’t break down.

“I’m bleeding pretty heavily,” she said as the door to the exam room closed.

“It’ll be okay. Go ahead and get changed. I’ll come back in and get your vitals.”

Take off the pants. The already-soaked pad. At least she wasn’t bleeding down her legs. Try not to stare at the thick clot in the middle of the pad. The blouse. The bra. Her breasts ached. It was almost impossible to breathe through the cramps.

She had a fever. Her blood pressure was up. Her pulse racing.

The look on Taylor’s face told her everything. The light pressure on her hand almost broke her. But Murphy did as she was told. And when Madeline entered, she looked at her doctor, who had never quite looked like this before.

“Let’s take a look,” she said, her voice tender.

The silence stretched. Murphy kept her eyes closed, pretending this was just an exam and Peter was in the lobby.

“Have you noticed any clotting?”

“It’s on the pad,” Murphy choked out. “When I got undressed.”

“I’ll get that tested.” The ultrasound gel was cold on her belly. The silence was staggering.

“I’m sorry, Murphy,” Madeline said, her tone quiet. “But I don’t see any evidence of the baby.”

Cold weight settled on her. “So what’s next?”

“This early on, a miscarriage is honestly like a heavy period. My suggestion is to let nature take its course, though if you’re still bleeding in ten days, give me a call. I don’t think we’re going to need to do a D&C.”

“Ten days?!” Murphy’s breath caught. “I have to …” the cramps were killing her. “Ten days?”

“It will lessen.” Again, light pressure to her hand. “Murphy, I’m sorry.”

She needed to know. “If I’d done something sooner, gone to the ER earlier, something ... would …”

“Probably not,” Madeline said. “At this stage, anything can happen.” She helped her sit up. “But I’d suggest taking the next couple of days off of work and trying to relax. Hot showers. And watch for clotting. Sometimes, you’ll pass tissue that looks, well. There is a small chance you will see the sac. But at this early stage, Murphy, it’s not going to look like anything more than just a heavy period.”

Murphy felt what blood was left in her body drain from her. “You mean, I might see …” she shook her head. “No. I can’t … no.”

“This is normal, Murphy,” Madeline reminded her. “Especially for a woman your age.”

Normal? Normal? Since when was this normal? She didn’t care about statistics? How was this normal? Why was it? This didn’t make any sense! If it was normal, why did she feel so empty? Like such a failure? Why had she allowed herself to get so excited about this baby?

“I should have …”

“No.” Madeline looked her in the eye. “At this stage, there are no ‘I should haves.’ You presented healthy. This is normal.”

“Yeah …” she stared down at her knees.

“Is Peter here with you today?”

“He’s in Saudi Arabia on a story and won’t be back for another couple of days…” everything hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Madeline sighed. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’m going to have Taylor bring in some resources for you. And really, I would suggest that you go home and get some rest.”

Murphy nodded, trying to find where her body was in all of this.

She took the information from Taylor. Popped another midol. Let Doris drive her home. Miles thought she was chasing a source. She didn’t need to check in for a while. Reena took one look at her and ushered her to bed and then scooted Avery outside to play. Murphy stared at the phone and willed it to ring. He’d promised to call when he got settled.

Peter wanted this baby so badly. He hadn’t said as much, but she’d seen how he was with her since it was confirmed. She’d watched how he glowed with excitement. He was a father. Now what? It wasn’t like this was planned. It wasn’t like she wanted to try again. She wasn’t 35 anymore. Hell, she wasn’t 42 anymore.

Breathe through the cramps.

Was this her fault? What could she have done differently? If she went back in time, to 11:59, before she’d run up to the bathroom to pee, would things have been different if she went slower? If she’d had that milk with her mint tea? If she’d just gone to bed instead of reading one more chapter in this book her interview for the week had written?

She stared at the ring on her finger, the one no one at work had noticed yet, the one Peter’s grandmother had sent just for her. Made for Graceann Hunt by her husband for their tenth anniversary. The ring that said Welcome to the family. We approve of you for our son. Here, have a priceless family heirloom because we know how much he loves you.

Breathe through the cramps.

Try to keep the tears at bay.

Would Peter blame her?

***

The silence on the line was heavy, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of him or her. “Murphy …” his voice caught, the guilt piling up around him, his own dungeon being built by brick.

“I’m sorry …”

She was crying. God. She was crying. She was crying and apologizing and he just needed to be there with her. Instead he had impossible to get interviews to conduct over the next two days. Murphy would never forgive him if he dropped them and it wasn’t like he could just step into a transporter and get home.

“Are you in pain?” Her silence told him everything. “You can be honest.”

“I’m numb right now,” she sniffed. “I just can’t …”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can be.”

Silence.

“You have a job to do, Peter. So do I. I mean, it isn’t like …” she sucked in a breath. “It isn’t like we … just … um. What hotel were your parents going to stay in for the wedding? I want to call and confirm their rooms.”

“Murphy we don’t have to …” That was, completely, the wrong thing to say.

“What?” The sharp tone was back in her voice. “We don’t have to move forward so quickly now?”

Later, he’d come to realize that was when it happened. When she pulled away and he started to let her. Sitting alone in his apartment, staring at her photo and praying rosaries that didn’t bring comfort, he’d kick himself for thinking he was reassuring her by even suggesting they push the wedding back. If he’d been there, with her, when he suggested it, she wouldn’t have been able to hide behind her own insecurities. But alone, building her walls, scared and hurting, she convinced herself, in that moment, that he didn’t want to marry her.

The longer he sat in silence, the more she convinced herself he didn’t want the one thing he’d wanted for almost the entire time they’d been together.

“Murphy, we … no, you’re right.”

Silence.

At least she wasn’t hanging up. But she wasn’t talking. And Peter suddenly wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“I’ll be home soon.” The words felt so hollow. He shouldn’t have taken this assignment. He shouldn’t have left her.

“Okay.” She said. “Look, I’m going to try and get some sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Should you …”

“Should I just curl up in bed and whine? I’m fine, Peter. I was told over and over today that this is normal. I should start acting like it.” Her voice was tight. A tone he recognized. She was already pulling back behind her walls.

“Murphy …”

“Hon, it’s fine. We …” her voice caught. “I’ll see you in a few days. I love you.”

And she hung up before he could respond.

Peter collapsed down onto the bed and stared helplessly at the ceiling. She’d been alone. He’d promised he’d be there for her and she’d been alone. From the other side of the planet, he could see her walls building again, hiding herself from the pain, from the failure. He knew her. She blamed herself. And even if he left tonight, by the time he made it back, she’d have her smooth polish back on her face. She’d be strong and secure and no one would ever know how much she was hurting. No one needed to know, after all.

Because, apparently, this was “normal.” By now, he knew, she’d convinced herself that her grief wasn’t something to worry about. A miscarriage was normal.

Peter reached for the phone and dialed again, praying she would pick up. It went to the machine. Twice. The first time he hung up. The second he reminded her he loved her. From this far away, it was all he could do.


End file.
